


Warmer, Richer, Deeper Sounds

by seki



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 13:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/pseuds/seki
Summary: Impractical as it is, some things are worth rescuing.A rekindling, set to music.





	Warmer, Richer, Deeper Sounds

The apartment block where Ignis and Noctis had once lived is shored up. Scaffolding wreathes it, allowing workers to be carefully pull it down before it collapses onto the road below.

Ignis has all the plans to the city center, maps of all the access points. There's a dusty pedestrian tunnel that connects parts of the subway, and _that_ connects to a utilities maintenance passageway, and _that_ connects to the recycling and refuse collection system, and from there it's possible to hop through a small hatch into the old car parking garage.

Forcing the doors is simple enough, after that. And at least they hadn't had to use the sewers.

Noctis brushes himself down as they push past the web-strewn stairwell access doorway, grimacing. "I hope this is worth it. We could have just asked to go in ahead of the crews."

"Entering so visibly would set a bad example. And you didn't _have_ to accompany me."

"I lived here too, remember?"

"Everything you had was moved to the Citadel."

"Not the point." Noctis runs his hands through his hair, pulls out a clump of something that Ignis doesn't want to speculate about, drops it on the floor with a disgusted expression. "I liked living here."

Ignis smiles, even as he rounds the corner into what he had, for a while, thought of as _their_ corridor. "Come on, then. Help me break my door down."

Noctis grins at him, brandishes the zapper. Ignis kneels, feeds in the oiled wire until he can hear it scratching inside the lock, then lets it dangle. Noctis touches the zapper to it; the lock clicks.

"Fuck. Can't believe that works."

Ignis turns the handle, hard, and puts all his weight into pushing forward as he does so. "It likely wouldn't," he says, "if there was still power to the building. Or if anyone had maintained the locks in the last two years. As it is--" the lock gives, and the door opens, "--we're lucky."

The apartment floor is littered with debris; one of the windows in the main room has been broken and the wind must have carried it all in: paper, dead leaves, dust, plastic ephemera. It's rather sad to see his old home in such a state. Noctis strides in, glass and mulch crunching underfoot, and sweeps the top of Ignis's old dining table clear.

"Right," he says, sounding cheerful. "Anything you don't want to leave for the sweeper crews, we pile it on here. I'll check the bathroom and the hall cupboard."

It's not that large an apartment, and Ignis had packed up a lot of things before leaving. He tackles the bedroom first. Some of the boxes haven't stood the test of time, alas; vermin have eaten their way into cardboard and through the walls of wooden containers. Still, he digs around optimistically, throwing everything into a suitcase that still seems sturdy enough to contain it. Some of the clothing is absurdly overblown for common custom in these post-dark days, but he packs it up anyway. 

Noctis, when Ignis looks, has found a few things worth taking on general principles; towels, hairbrush and comb, two umbrellas, a spare pair of glasses, shoelaces, several disposable razors still in a sealed bag. Items that aren't quite as easy to come by as Ignis would like, these days.

They work their way around the living room and kitchen. Ignis is willing to leave most of his kitchenware and even his books behind, except for a few gifted items, but even so the pile of _stuff_ is growing at an alarming rate. The cabinet by the bedroom door holds things Ignis is keen to keep; photos, old documents, letters, a beautiful calligraphy set from his parents. There's a row of old vinyl records in the lower half, and Noctis pulls those out with gentle hands.

"I remember these," he says, softly. "Keep them?"

"I don't have a player. Besides, they're heavy and fragile. Probably not worth--"

"Ignis."

Ignis sighs, and kneels. "Maybe we could just take the important ones."

"Hmm." Noctis smiles, all softness and nostalgia. "You remember when we kissed--"

"I remember." It's easy to say, here in the wrecked half-lit room. Music playing, record after record, the two of them sprawled out on the rug. A soundtrack to first kisses, sweet and unhurried, mere days before everything changed. "A long time ago, in another world."

"Yeah." Noctis plucks out an album, holds it up. "I bet we could find a player."

"I doubt--"

"Or maybe we could get yours working again." Noctis looks over at the player tucked into its alcove, the case thick with dust. "It might not even need fixing. It'd be nice."

"We'll have to make several trips at this rate," Ignis says, and as he says it he knows it's agreement. "And the lift doesn't work."

Noctis sighs, as if put-upon. "Fine."

In the end, it takes three trips, heavily-laden, to move everything Ignis decides to keep for himself down to the parking garage and into the dusty old car that Ignis has made arrangements to have towed to the Citadel. It is four in the morning, and Ignis is tired and sweaty, and they still have to get out of here unseen.

It really wouldn't do for them to be seen looting. No special priorities for anyone, that's the rule. And as they slump down on the floor next to the hatch, resting before they tackle the trip back, Ignis thinks that sometimes the rules are _stupid_.

"Funny," Noctis says, head tipped back against the cold tiles. "It always felt like you didn't _own_ much, back in the day."

"I suppose it wasn't much, comparatively."

Noctis snorts. "Yeah, not compared to me, especially."

"But I loved that apartment."

"Yeah." Noctis is smiling, when Ignis looks over at him. "I liked it too. It was very _you_. All old books and music. Old-fashioned."

"I miss those days."

"Don't we all." Noctis takes a swig of water from his canister. "C'mon. Let's get a move on. The quicker we get back, the quicker I can shower."

\--

What with everything, it's a solid week before Ignis can get at his old car.

Noctis is busy, so he recruits Gladio to help him carry the boxes and bags up to his rooms in the Citadel. To his credit, Gladio doesn't make too many jabs about special treatment, but he does take the pair of shoelaces Ignis offers him when everything's moved.

"Barter economy, huh," he says, pocketing the laces. "Thought we were against that."

"I believe our official policy is to turn a blind eye as long as it's small items."

"Uh-huh."

Ignis sets the player down carefully on his table. "And I may have to barter again for help in getting this going. I can't imagine ten years of neglect has done it any good."

Gladio snorts. "Iggy. Please. You designed the electrical network in Lestallum. Don't let _this_ beat you."

"Different sort of thing entirely."

"Funny thing to rescue, anyway. We got plenty of music. You want a specific song, call in and request one like anyone else."

"The radio is _not_ the same. And neither is a portable player, if one could even be had." Ignis eyes the dust critically. "A cloth, please. Damp, not wet."

Gladio hands him one, and Ignis wipes down the outside of the record player. The turntable is probably fine, safely hidden under the lid, but he suspects he'll have to remove the various knobs and buttons on the outside for a proper clean. And the speakers may not even function. He purses his lips, contemplating how difficult it might be to requisition new, functional ones if so.

"Right," Gladio says, snapping him out of the train of thought. "You got that look like you'll be here for hours, so I'mma head out. Don't forget dinner in two hours."

"Ah. Yes. Thank you again."

"S'okay. Thanks for the laces."

Gladio closes the door behind him, and Ignis lets himself look at the scale of his salvage efforts. Boxes stacked against his bookcase. Boxes stacked at the foot of his bed. Bags _on_ his bed. He should really unpack everything, find it all a place, before he gets on with the repair of this frivolous item.

He falls asleep, hours later, nothing unpacked, bags shoved to one side of his bed, with the thrill of anticipation running through him. He's going to have this machine up and running again in no time.

\--

It takes five weeks to get both player and speakers in -- hopefully -- working order, during which time Ignis also manages to unpack everything else he recovered from his old home. Ignis has requisitioned new wires and fuses, and managed to persuade the officer at the storage facility that his clearance level permitted him to take old junked items for parts.

Everything is connected. The lights come on as they should. The speakers hum with a faint, promising buzz. Everything that should be oiled _is_. Everything that should spin does. There's a fresh needle in the arm.

Ignis, rather self-consciously, stops by Noctis's office and asks if he'd like to come see if the old thing works.

"Yeah? You got it going?"

"I believe so." Ignis nudges his glasses. "I haven't quite put it to the test yet. This might all be an anticlimax. But I thought you should be there."

Noctis smiles at him. "Absolutely. When?"

"Tonight? After dinner? At, oh, say, 8? Come by my rooms."

"You're on."

Ignis spends the hour he has _before_ dinner setting his room in order. Noctis has been in a hundred times before. And Ignis is hardly messy by nature. But this feels important.

They'd kissed. A long time ago, in a different Insomnia, to the music from the record player. Things had changed, fast, and they'd set their kisses and blossoming _something_ aside. Too confusing, too unwise, too at odds with Noctis's impending marriage to a lady he was indeed very fond of.

But now?

Noctis has no bride on the horizon. Hasn't dated since, well, however one counted, since Lunafreya's tragic demise. Neither has Ignis, if it comes to that, not in any way that matters; a few proto-dates, the sort where each person sounds the other out for chemistry and compatibility. Nobody has made it to an _actual_ date.

With a mounting sense of embarrassment at his own hopes, Ignis freshens up his room, checks he still has that bottle of good whisky in his kitchenette cupboard, and plumps up the cushions on his sofa. And puts on one of his old ridiculously flamboyant shirts, a testament to a time when he could afford to care about fashion.

Dinner is one of Monica's finer contributions to the bulk recipes, a hearty stew that Ignis barely tastes. He's aware, all the way through, that Noctis has changed out of his royal clothing, is wearing a smart blue shirt and black trousers. Noctis doesn't catch his eye, and is seated at the far end of the table anyway, but Ignis feels the spark of hope glow brighter. It's a good omen, that Noctis is getting dressed up for him too.

He heads up to his room as soon as is polite, and then spends a flustered ten minutes fidgeting impatiently. When he hears footsteps outside, he heaves in a deep breath, and arranges himself in front of the row of records, so it will look as though he has been merely browsing through them, instead of letting himself become a bundle of nerves.

The door creaks open. "Ignis?"

"Ah, you're here." Ignis smiles up at Noctis, over his shoulder. "Just trying to decide what to play."

Noctis looks good, dressed up, hair smoothed back. He's holding a little cardboard box in his hands. "Yeah?"

"I thought, perhaps, Oblita Charita? The first album?"

"It _is_ a classic," Noctis agrees, and he holds the box out to Ignis. "Uh. This is for you."

Ignis takes it. It's light, and as Noctis folds himself down cross-legged next to Ignis, Ignis opens the box. Two slices of sponge cake sit within, pale yellow, topped with a ruby-coloured glaze. "You brought me cake?"

"You hoofed it before dessert." Noctis looks away, towards the door. "And I, uh. I couldn't find any flowers, so."

It _is_ a date, Ignis thinks, feeling a tad light-headed. "Well, this is better than flowers. I can't eat flowers."

Noctis chuckles, a soft, nervous sound, and then he leans forward to run a finger along the top of the row of records and tugs one outward. "Oblita Charita, then."

"Yes. Put it on, will you -- I'll get forks for the cake."

"Sure."

Ignis stands in the nook of his little kitchenette, and grins inanely at the wall. Cake. Noctis brought him cake instead of flowers. Two forks, then, and… well, might as well take the bottle of whisky over too, and glasses.

Noctis has the record on the turntable when Ignis returns.

"Oo," Noctis says, inspecting the bottle. "The good stuff. Didn't know you had this stashed."

"I've been keeping it back for a special occasion."

That makes Noctis's eyes go soft and pleased, and Ignis settles himself down. He pours out a little for each of them.

"Here. To… music."

Noctis clinks his glass against Ignis's, and Ignis reaches out and presses _play_.

The turntable spins. The record turns. The arm lifts, moves, and drops the needle into the groove. The immediate crackle and hiss from the speaker makes Ignis smile even before the music starts.

It's a beautiful album. Flowing piano and spare percussion, clever lyrics, an expressive singer whose voice can soar or croon as needed. It follows a conceit, the singer conducting a fantastical nature documentary of sorts, narrowing down to focus on a colony of tiny insects and expanding outwards to encompass vast creatures that swim out amid the wastes of space. Ignis has always loved it, and hearing it like this, filling the whole of his room with song, it sounds even better than he remembers.

Noctis sips his drink, closes his eyes, and tips his head from side to side in time with the first song. _Did you ever_ , he mouths along with the singer, over the rim of his glass _, travel so far from home you can't find it again?_

Did he ever, indeed. The singer's journey never leads him home again. But Noctis and Ignis? They have this home, one fought hard for, one they are carefully rebuilding from the rubble, and however far their journeys took them, here they are.

Ignis sets down his own glass.

"Noct," he says, softly. "I'm glad you're here."

Noctis opens his eyes, and gives Ignis an indulgent look. "So am I."

"Do you remember listening to this, that night when--"

"When you first kissed me?" Noctis's smile is so soft, so beautiful. "Track five."

Ignis clears his throat. "Do you mind if I skip ahead of that, schedulewise?"

It's a fine kiss, the tang of whisky on Noctis's lips, the music playing, the soft brush of Noctis's beard against Ignis's upper lip. It reminds Ignis of the album they're listening to; even better than he remembers.

Noctis chuckles when they pull apart, eyes closed, lips curved. "That was a long time coming," he says. "You know, you didn't need to replicate the first time _that_ far."

"No?"

"No." Noctis opens his eyes, so close that Ignis can see his own eyes, reflected in Noctis's. "I'd have kissed you any time you asked, really."

"Oh."

Noctis blinks, and then looks apologetic. "But this was very sweet. I'm really not complaining, I--"

"Ssh." Ignis tips his head forward, kisses Noctis again.

It's a classic album. One of Ignis's favourites. The needle slips into the runout groove, five songs later, and the player slows to a stop.

Ignis, however, is far too busy to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a vinyl junkie, and, well, I can see Ignis appreciating it too. Kisses to music were a theme in *my* teenage life, and so, I give it to my darling boys.
> 
> And I wrote this listening to the Arctic Monkey's Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino, which isn't quite the (not real) album they're listening to, but it's akin.


End file.
